


the ghosts come in the quiet, they come in the dark

by tigerlo



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: A heavy dose of feelings and Charity internally processing, Angst, Angst and Smut, F/F, like really, that's almost all there is folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlo/pseuds/tigerlo
Summary: Charity tries to find some relief the only way she knows how.Post 11th April episode.





	the ghosts come in the quiet, they come in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartsways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsways/gifts).



> Initially, I had thought we might have a week in limbo without a Vanity reunion/resolution so I took my time with this but then we had one by Friday! While it might not quite fit exactly with canon, if you squint, you could probably imagine this still happens between Charity leaving Vanessa at the bottom of the stairs, and the scene with Tracy, Megan and Frank in the morning.
> 
> Also, @heartsways - a deals a deal, right?

-

 

Her heart feels like a bloody maelstrom.

 

It feels like there’s a storm there fit to tear the world apart, but not for the first time in her life, Charity welcomes it, she revels in it, because she’s so angry she can barely breathe.

 

Her whole body feels like a fire in a tinder-dry forest when she feels Vanessa’s presence leave the house - she knows now, when she’s here and when she’s not because the warmth leaves the second Vanessa does.

 

There’s plenty of heat right now, though, just not a drop of warmth, because Charity’s not sure she’s ever been this angry in her entire life. That’s saying something it is, because Charity’s had a rage burning in her chest from the ripe old age of thirteen, but this is something different, this anger at Vanessa - it feels worse than anything else put together, and she knows why, too.

 

She’s been betrayed before, more times than she can count, but she’s never been betrayed by someone as soft as Vanessa, and for whatever flaming reason, that hurts more than anything else.

 

Charity walks around the house, slamming whatever door she can, and it feels good, to exorcise some of the rage, it feels satisfying, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t think anything short of burning the village down will be, either.

 

It’s not enough, no, and before she can think of something else to distract herself with, or can reach for something else to break, fear finds her. Fear, and loathing and pain that only stays long enough to burn like she’s half on fire, before the anger sets back in.

 

She flirts with the bloke at the pub because she can, because there’s a catharsis in seeing the pain flash hot and deep across Vanessa’s face. It’s satisfying, to watch her hurt like Charity does, and she knows it’s old and tired, this revenge bit, but the method has lingered so long in her life because it feels _good_ \- even if it’s just for a second - when nothing else does.

 

She could have taken him upstairs, she could have fucked him until she forgets what Vanessa’s touch feels like against her skin replaced by his, but she doesn’t because she’s not actually sure it would. That’s why she tells herself she doesn’t do it, not because somewhere, vaguely, deep down in her heart she knows it would probably be a bridge too far for Vanessa to actually forgive - but because she knows she’ll only feel disappointed when it doesn’t achieve what she wants it too. When it doesn’t give her relief.

 

She knows what will though, the second that thought leaves her head, she knows exactly what will and she hates herself for it, for having backed herself into this corner. There’s no use flogging herself for that now, no, there be time for that later, in spades.  

 

Because Vanessa Woodfield is the sum total of the problem right now, so she can be the bloody reprieve too.

 

-

 

It must be near midnight by the time she finally stumbles over to Tug Ghyll, jamming her key into the slot so clumsily she’s surprised it doesn’t snap off in her hand.

 

She can smell the whiskey on her own breath as it plumes in front of her, brilliant white clouds of failure, and she knows Vanessa will be able to smell it too, if only she can get the bloody door open. She takes too long though, makes too much noise, and the door draws back before she can push it forward of her own accord. What’s one more thing she can’t control, though? She’s already had more today than she thought she could bear.

 

“Charity?”

 

Vanessa’s voice sounds broken, and Charity can see she’s been crying, for hours if the red of her face is anything to go by. It’s sadistic, Charity knows it is, but it helps, knowing that Vanessa is in pain, too.

 

She can see little nail marks on Vanessa’s hands as they clutch the door like Vanessa needs it as a lifeline, once her eyes focus in the face of the light from inside, and can picture so clearly in her mind's eye Vanessa sitting on the couch, sinking them sharply into her skin to try and strip the image of Charity with the stranger from the pub, writhing around in the bed that is almost Vanessa’s own, too.

 

“I thought you were….” Vanessa says, voice hoarse, and Charity can see desperate hope and relief in Vanessa’s eyes at her unexpected appearance.

 

“Married, wasn’t he,” Charity says carelessly, because she can’t help herself, and she watches Vanessa wince at it.

 

It’s not true at all, and Charity’s sure Vanessa will find out about her chucking him out of the pub later, but it’s more satisfying to crash around and cause a bit more pain, it helps push back her own choking agony a little more.

 

Vanessa is looking at her like she holds the world in her hands, and she supposes she does really, Vanessa’s at least. There’s a power in that which buoys her, which straightens her back like a harsh hand pulling her upright, filling her lungs with a borrowed force, and she uses it. Before Vanessa has the chance to say something to make her give into the fierce tugging on her heart pleading for her to curl up in Vanessa’s arms and cry until she can’t breathe.

 

She can’t give into the weakness though, she won’t, because she’s strong, she’s strong, she’s _strong_. Enough to stand on her own two feet, and fall to her knees from them, too.

 

She doesn’t need anything. She doesn’t need Vanessa. (Only she really, really does)

 

She pushes over the threshold, bullishly, taking Vanessa’s head in her hands, driving her back into the wall. She feels Vanessa let out a muffled sound into her mouth in surprise when her back makes contact with it, and she’s half-expecting hands to push her back harshly, for Vanessa to shove her off like Charity had done to her, but she doesn’t.

 

Vanessa’s hands slide around her middle instead, over the curve of her rib cage, holding onto Charity desperately, _so_ desperately, as Charity’s tongue slides into her mouth.

 

The kiss is hard, and desperate, and angry, not like anything they’ve ever shared before, and still she’s expecting Vanessa to throw her off, to tell her to stop, but she doesn’t, she just tightens her hold, and Charity realises with a punch to the gut that it’s because she probably didn’t ever think she’d have this again - have Charity again - and it almost makes her stop still and claw at her chest and pull her heart free so she doesn’t ever have to feel the sick guilt of causing that feeling in Vanessa for a second longer.

 

Because there’s a different kind of power there, in being wanted so desperately by Vanessa, it’s different to what it felt like with Cain, when she had crawled back into his bed. His relief was set in control, that he’d managed to draw her back in, to claim her again, to use her until it made him ashamed of himself and he’d force her out again, but with Vanessa it’s such a contrast that it takes her breath away.

 

There’s nothing like that in Vanessa’s touch, no thinly veiled manipulation in the way her hands smooth over Charity’s body, thinking how she might use this against Charity, to twist her way back to Charity’s side. There’s just relief, _only_ relief, and desperation, like she wants to soak up as much of this, to commit and burn it all to memory, in case this is the last time.

 

Charity knows she lets something slip midway through their kiss, some sign of signal that she’s falling back into her head, that she’s thinking about more than just this - the urgency of physical contact - because Vanessa sighs against her in a way that’s almost a sob, she feels the moment of contemplation, of confliction, and it’s enough to finally force her to break the kiss.

 

“Charity,” Vanessa tries, and she’s crying, freely now. Charity can feel her cheeks wet with it. “I’m so, _so_ —“

 

“Don’t,” she snaps, her voice harsh, a clear warning, her hands tightening in Vanessa’s hair involuntarily.

 

Vanessa winces again and Charity scolds herself, her grip loosening instantly, because physical pain, hurting Vanessa like she had the other day, she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t _ever_ want that. Emotional pain, that’s different, that’s something she’s proud to excel at, but she won’t be a brute, she won’t join the long line of men who have raised their hands to her, no matter how furious she is.

 

“But,” Vanessa tries, taking Charity’s hesitation for something else entirely.

 

“ _Don’t_ , Vanessa,” Charity says again, her touch softer but her voice harsher, and she begins to realise then that maybe this was a mistake. Because Vanessa Woodfield, Queen of Talking About Feelings, was never just going to let her get away with taking the physical connection her body is screaming for without a ton of processing, too.

 

“Please,” Vanessa begs, with more genuine, heartfelt apology between the words than Charity’s ever heard in her entire life. “I just want-”

 

Her voice is so soft, and her tone so genuine, that Charity knows she has to leave. She knows that Vanessa is going to break her without even meaning to. She twists out of Vanessa’s grip, pulling herself back roughly, but in such a way that she’s careful only to be careless with her own body, and not knock Vanessa’s too.

 

Her hands ache with the loss of Vanessa’s warmth immediately, her stomach dropping, lungs emptying, and she’s almost free of the house, she almost has herself fully out of the door and into the cruel cold air when Vanessa’s hand closes tightly around her wrist.

 

“No,” Vanessa says desperately, the words rough. Broken. Begging. “I’ll give you what you want. Just stay. Please, Charity. _Stay_.”

 

It’s tempting to yank her arm out of Vanessa’s grip, a touch like that normally filling her with panic, like _his_ had earlier, but Vanessa’s never does, it never has, because Charity’s never felt anything but safe with her. She thinks that’s why she’s pushing back now, because no matter what she does, no matter what she says, Vanessa will never hurt her like almost everyone else in her life ever has. Nothing Vanessa ever does will leave a bruise on her skin.

 

At first Charity had thought that she just needed to feel, and she does, blow it all to hell, she does, but she knows why she can kick off now, and why she couldn’t before, with the bloke from the pub. Because the old Charity wouldn’t have cared if he knocked her around a bit, that would’ve been a normal Friday night for her - but she knows now that it can hurt, with the right person - with Vanessa - but she doesn’t have to _bleed_.

 

Vanessa’s ruined it all for her really, she’s ruined bloody everything. She was perfectly fine before, keeping this pain locked away in a box beside her cold, dead, heart before Vanessa came into her life with her infuriatingly sunny disposition and her kindness and her kisses and her smile that made Charity burn hot across a room.

 

She was fine. She was fine. She was just bloody _fine_. And now she’s not.

 

She just needs to feel, she knows that’ll help, failing everything else. And if she can’t make herself use some drunk bloke, then Vanessa Woodfield, the centre of her bloody universe, and all the problems in it, will have to do.

 

That’s why she can be cruel, she can exorcise her demons, she can rage against a body and trust that no matter what happens, no matter what she does, she won’t ever have to fear for her safety.

 

“I don’t need your pity, babe,” Charity spits finally, coldly, because it’s easier to pull back and reject it than to accept it. She takes another step, but Vanessa’s grip is firm, not entitled, not vicious, and before Charity can take another, Vanessa is pulling her, leading her back inside.

 

“It’s not pity,” Vanessa breathes as she backs Charity against the wall, her flattening their bodies against one another completely, sliding her thigh between Charity’s, leaning forward with the barest hint of friction. “It’s not pity, Charity. It’s….”

 

_Love_ . She thinks Vanessa is about to say love, and she prepares herself to leave, because that she _cannot_ hear, that she won’t be able to stand up against.

 

All of a sudden Charity’s heart starts racing and her breath picks up and she feels the pricking of panic climb up the back of her neck, and then, like she knows, like she can feel how loosely Charity is holding herself together, Vanessa kisses her. Hands at Charity’s hips and her thigh tight up against Charity, and she leans in and kisses her like both of their lives depend on it.

 

Charity supposes that they do, in a way.

 

The kiss is long and hungry and there’s a turmoil of emotions in the way Vanessa growls into Charity’s mouth, and it’s not self-pitying, it’s not pathetic, Charity can feel Vanessa’s tears on her face but there’s a different element in Vanessa’s touch now, like she’s trying to give Charity _everything_ , like she’s trying to give her exactly what she needs and a reason to stay, all at once.

 

Vanessa’s hands twist in the loops of her jeans, pulling her closer as their kiss deepens, eliminating all space between them, and Charity moans in response, because this is it, this is what she wanted, passion - white-hot and searing, _numbing_ \- and she tries not to focus on the fact that Vanessa knew that exactly, without even having to ask her.

 

She’s about to push off the wall and lead Vanessa to the couch, her hands already aching for bare skin, desperate for it, but Vanessa beats her to it. She takes a step back, tugging Charity forwards, crashing their hips and lips together as they turn, smooth as flowing water, and Vanessa walks her backwards until Charity’s legs hit the back of the couch.

 

Vanessa’s hands pause at her waist and she throws Charity a quick look, searching for an ok, for some small nod of consent and Charity doesn’t know how to speak without her voice breaking anymore, not when Vanessa’s looking at her like that, so she snakes her hands up and into Vanessa’s hair and kisses her viscously, instead. She gets the message, even before Charity moves away with Vanessa’s bottom lip between her teeth, her hands already tugging at Charity’s clothes, pulling her top off over her head and throwing it somewhere over Charity’s shoulder.

 

Vanessa still has all her clothes on, and it’s frustrating enough that Charity can feel the urge to lash out again building in her throat just to satiate it, but she resists, because she knows even through her haze that Vanessa must have a breaking point somewhere, because everyone does, everyone _always_ does, and she’s too hard up and worked up and angry to leave this house anything less than at least a little satisfied.

 

She might be careless but she isn’t stupid, so she does the next best thing, she fists her hands in Vanessa’s clothes and she stops fighting the force of gravity at her back, she disrupts her own balance, dragging her weight and Vanessa’s back - falling blindly, before the couch catches them both with a messy _thump_.

 

Vanessa has a look of annoyed exasperation on her face when she pushes up off of Charity to look her in the eye, a flash of anger and a flush on her cheeks, and it’s _exactly_ what Charity wanted, the reaction, the new lick of flame between them, and it sends a ripple of satisfaction down her back, making her shiver against Vanessa.

 

She can feel it, Charity knows she can, and a flicker of satisfaction passes across Vanessa’s face too, a bright look amidst the redness of Vanessa’s eyes, before she descends and kisses Charity again.

 

There’s a fierceness behind Vanessa’s lips that surprises Charity for a moment, a different kind of desperation to anything she’s ever felt from Vanessa before, like she’s pouring her entire soul into every kiss, every touch, and there’s an odd satisfaction in that too, because Charity doesn’t think she’s ever had someone try to prove themselves to her like this before.

 

Men have tried to hold onto her, to claim her, to keep her within their control, of course they have, but they’ve tried to make her feel like she’s only worthy of them in those last desperate moments, like they’re the best she’s ever going to get. Like she isn’t worth anything more.

 

Vanessa is different though, she’s _so_ different, because Charity can feel Vanessa trying to define her worth against Charity’s lips, trying to convince Charity that she’s good enough for her, and not the other way round. It makes her want to test Vanessa a little more, if she’s honest. It makes her want to see how much she’s willing to give, here, now, even though she thinks she already knows Vanessa will give her everything in the world if she asks.

 

Vanessa’s hands smooth over the bare skin of her stomach, the muscles leaping traitorously in her wake, her tongue pushes against Charity’s, and Charity thinks _yes_ , as her hands tear at Vanessa’s layers, _yes, you fool, you’ll give me everything, won’t you?_

 

They break apart just long enough for Charity to finally pull that god-awful sweater and shirt off and over Vanessa’s head, sighing heavily at the sight of her when she settles, chest heaving, her hair half out of her ponytail, sitting atop Charity’s lap.

 

She can tell Vanessa is barely holding herself together, too, _barely_. Can see it in the tension across her shoulders, in the line of her jaw, like she’s literally biting her tongue to stop herself from speaking, from driving Charity to a point where she shoves Vanessa off and leaves.

 

There’s a not so small part of Charity that wants to console Vanessa, too, that wants to offer her kisses and sweet, foreign words of solace, but then she remembers - Vanessa is the reason they’re here in the first place, _she’s_ the reason Charity wants to claw at her skin until the secrets are written in red on the outside, not only scarring the inside, _she’s_ the reason Charity is so angry she can barely breathe.

 

Vanessa is beautiful in her confliction though, Charity can see that even around her fury, she’s beautiful in her despair, and for a second the image of Vanessa with another woman, of Vanessa coming to pieces sitting on someone else’s lap crosses her mind, and the spike of jealousy is so strong that it drives Charity straight over the edge.

 

She reaches up, threading her fingers into Vanessa’s hair, pulling her down for a bruising kiss, moving her lips to the line of Vanessa’s jaw next, nipping, biting, pushing Vanessa’s head to the side with her cheek to expose her neck, taking the soft pulse in her mouth in a way that she knows is going to leave a mark as long and as dirty as the bloody river Thames.

 

She wants that though, she wants to mark Vanessa, she wants to _claim_ her, for the first time in her life she understands that desperate impulse she knows men have had towards her, to take, to possess, to have her all for themselves, to make sure no one else sets a flaming hand on her. Because she doesn’t know if she can stand the sight of Vanessa enough to ever forgive her, but she knows full well she doesn’t ever want anyone else to have her.

 

Not now. Not ever.

 

Vanessa groans beneath her teeth, longer when Charity’s attention moves further down towards her collarbone leaving a messy trail of purple in her wake, no part of it quiet.

 

“Christ, Vanessa,” Charity hisses into the warmth of her neck, her hands spreading over the small of Vanessa's back. “Do you want to wake the bloody household?”

 

“No one else is here,” Vanessa replies roughly as she hovers over Charity’s body, each word tumbling after the other, her hands busying themselves with the button of Charity’s jeans. “It’s just us.”

 

It’s hard to describe the relief that floods her system then, it’s a rush, almost a high, knowing she can be loud, _they_ can be loud, they can be _wild_ , fueled by the secondary relief of the dome of her trousers popping open.

 

She’s half expecting Vanessa to shove her hand between them in some desperate haste - she’s half craving it herself if she’s honest - but Vanessa shuffles back a little instead, enough so she can ease the zip of Charity’s jeans open, enough for Charity to get the message and raise her hips so Vanessa can tug them down her legs, her fingers heavy against Charity’s thighs around the fabric.

 

She crawls down the couch, moving with Charity’s jeans, until she’s far enough away that Charity’s impatience gets the better of her, and she reaches down to tip Vanessa’s chin up so she can catch her eye.

 

“Stop fussing with the bloody trousers,” Charity growls, looping her index finger beneath the strap of Vanessa’s bra. “And just touch me.”

 

“Not yet,” Vanessa replies, and Charity’s half expecting obedience, she’s half expecting Vanessa to give her exactly what she asks for, but Vanessa holds back stubbornly instead, letting the elastic strap snap against her skin when Charity takes her hand back.

 

There’s a defiance in her eyes that makes Charity _wet_ , a fire, a determination that Vanessa breathes that Charity has always been inhumanly attracted to, and she feels a throb deep in her core, because as much as she wants instant gratification - a quick and dirty fuck to numb her pain - she knows what she needs, to be satisfied for longer, is for Vanessa to make her work for it, just a little bit.

 

Because as much as Charity hates to admit it, Vanessa _knows_ her, Vanessa knows what she needs, _really_ needs, better than anyone on this rotten earth does.

 

Vanessa holds her gaze as she lowers her mouth, pressing kiss after molten kiss up Charity’s left leg when she finally discards the jeans, over her calf, at the curve of her knee, lingering at Charity’s inner thigh, nipping lightly, teasingly, before moving to place one single devastatingly soft kiss at Charity’s hip.

 

She’s trembling now, shaking with her barely lidded anger and roaring desire, and Vanessa is smirking against her, Charity can feel it, while her own sharp retort waits on the tip of her tongue, ready to fall from it and wipe the smile of her face when Vanessa steals it from her, wicked quick.

 

Vanessa sucks the skin against her teeth, moving across to Charity’s belly button, running her tongue up Charity’s stomach until her teeth can find the little bow in the middle of her bra. She throws Charity a look, hotter than blue flame, and Charity arches up against her mouth, sighing, impatient, only growing more and more so the longer Vanessa lingers.

 

“Come _on_ , Ness,” Charity breathes, the nickname slipping in her desperation, but Vanessa doesn’t give herself away, she doesn’t respond at all, to the point where Charity’s not even sure she heard her speak to begin with.

 

Vanessa just keeps her head low instead, kissing the rise and swell of Charity’s chest, her hands slipping beneath Charity’s back, but when the claps of her bra pops open, Charity thinks she feels a tear roll in the hollow between her breasts.

 

The guilt hits her like a blow to the stomach, because _she’s_ doing this, _she’s_ the cause of that pain, and she’s lost count of the sheer magnitude of it that she’s caused countless other people without batting an eyelid, but it’s different now. Vanessa’s pain is different. She’s almost ready to push Vanessa off, to take her shame and leave Vanessa’s broken heart here, cracked open on the couch and bleeding out, because she’s better off without her anyway. Everybody’s better off without her, in the end.

 

“ _No_ ,” Vanessa says quickly, shakily, her hands sliding down to hold Charity’s hips down against the couch when she makes to move. “No. I’m fine.”

 

“Vanessa,” Charity returns firmly, her hands closing over Vanessa’s then, ready to push her off, because she needs to end this. She needs to leave. Because who the hell was she to think that she - Charity Dingle - could ever have happiness.

 

“I need this too,” Vanessa says, quietly, so quietly. Like it’s a secret, like she’s terrified to admit it, with her head still bowed and her forehead resting against Charity’s stomach. “I….please don’t leave, Charity. I need this too.”

 

Vanessa’s honesty takes her aback sometimes, her openness, how easily she gives Charity things that people have spent years keeping from her. She doesn’t play games, she doesn’t manipulate her own truths in exchange for Charity’s, she just _is_ , and it’s so different to anything she’s ever had from lovers before that half the time she doesn’t even know how to react in response.

 

“So give me a reason not to,” Charity replies, pulling Vanessa to her so she can kiss Vanessa hard, so she can assuage some of her own guilt, and Vanessa responds the second their lips touch.

 

She meets Charity halfway, her hands moving up her back again to catch the ends of her now open bra, fingers sliding under the straps so she can dispose of that too, before pushing Charity back into the couch. There’s something different in Vanessa’s body now, a determination, a false steel that wasn’t there a second ago, and Charity can’t stop the groan when Vanessa kisses her again, when her lips move lower to close around her nipple, when her teeth nip around it gently, too.

 

It’s almost unbearable now, the throbbing between her legs, made a thousand times worse by the way that Vanessa’s fair attacking the swell of her breasts, dragging her teeth over the less sensitive skin, painting them as colourfully as Charity can see her own handiwork on Vanessa’s neck.

 

Vanessa’s done with teasing now though, she shifts, pushing her thigh against Charity’s core, and Charity almost hits the roof, that’s how bloody sensitive she is. Vanessa moans back into Charity’s mouth at her reaction, her hands moving to the elastic of her underwear, fingers looping beneath edge before she shifts, and starts to work them down Charity’s legs.

 

Charity kicks them off once they’re down past her knees, completely exposed beneath Vanessa now, and she’s never been embarrassed by her own nakedness, she lost that years ago, before she turned fifteen. It’s a waste though, not to feel Vanessa skin against skin too when she is, so she sits up, Vanessa shifting on her lap to accommodate the movement, her hands moving to the button of Vanessa’s pants as soon as there’s room to.

 

They join Charity’s clothes in a pile on the floor after a minute, and Charity sighs with something like relief when Vanessa moves against her, miles of warm skin finally touching her own. She can feel her own arousal coating Vanessa’s thigh now, when Vanessa pushes against her, but she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care about anything beyond Vanessa fucking her until she can’t breathe.

 

Charity’s hands move around Vanessa’s ribs as Vanessa’s hand trails up her inner thigh to flick open the clasp of her bra, and Vanessa pauses for a moment to shrug out of it, tossing it over the back of the couch before turning back to Charity.

 

Her hands close around Vanessa’s breasts, the weight of them pleasantly familiar and heavy, and she palms them roughly, smirking at the hissed reply above her before Vanessa’s lips crash against hers again. Vanessa leans low against her body, taking Charity’s bottom lip between her teeth when she finally runs her fingers around the wetness collected between Charity’s thighs, her breath catching when she feels how thick it is.

 

“ _Charity_ ,” Vanessa says, faltering, her breath tripping as her fingers move in wide circles, dipping lower to the source of the heat.

 

“What did you bloody expect,” Charity growls against her lips, her hands moving over Vanessa’s back, her hips pushing greedily against Vanessa’s hand.

 

She doesn’t think it’ll ever go out, this fire between them, this wicked flame, not until the day they die, because it burns so hot Charity’s not sure how it hasn’t consumed them both long before now.

 

_Or maybe,_ she thinks, as Vanessa pushes into her, two fingers thick, _it already has._

 

Vanessa’s mouth moves over her chest, up her neck as she starts to thrust quick and rhythmic, her thumb bumping over Charity’s clit with every movement, and Charity can feel her heart throwing itself against her ribcage in reply. Vanessa’s good at this, she’s _far_ too good at this, can cut to the core of Charity’s desire, to what she needs, in about two seconds flat.

 

What she needs now is more though, she _wants_ more, she wants to be able to feel the dull ache between her thighs tomorrow to match the love bites all over her neck and chest when she’s busy pretending this never happened. She wants the sensation when she slips away from the pub, pulling at her collar to see Vanessa’s marks, to remind herself that it did.

 

She lifts her hips restlessly, following Vanessa’s hand, chasing it, and before she can even demand _more_ , Vanessa gives it, sliding in with three fingers on the next thrust. Her breath stops heavily in her chest, caught just after releasing, and her back arches with the burn - low and heavy and delicious.

 

Charity’s fingers flex against the smooth skin of Vanessa’s back when Vanessa starts moving again, and she grants herself a quick and devilish smile, hidden in the curve of Vanessa’s neck, before raking her nails from shoulder to waist, _hard_ , the thrill of Vanessa’s deep groan and how she arches into Charity’s nails and not away from them only adding to her pleasure.

 

Charity will smooth her fingertips over them later, the long angry red lines, once Vanessa is asleep, before she slips out of her bed and back into the cold, into the shadow where she belongs. It’ll be the only moment of softness she’ll allow herself before the steel bars come up all over again, the ones that let her see the softness in the world while keeping herself an arm's length from it.

 

It seems to urge Vanessa on, the sharpness of her nails against the almost unbearably soft and unmarred skin of her back, so Charity does it again as Vanessa thrusts quicker, and again, as Vanessa’s teeth set into her neck, and again, one final time, when she comes.

 

The orgasm takes her by surprise, it takes both of them by surprise, Charity thinks, hitting her in the chest like an invisible blow, robbing her of breath. Vanessa doesn’t stop though, not when she feels Charity ripple around her fingers, not as Charity gasps into her ear, her bones aching with the weight of her pleasure, the strength of it - no, Vanessa doesn’t stop - because it’s not enough.

 

She keeps pushing, as Charity comes so thoroughly to pieces beneath her, holding Vanessa as tightly against her as she can, she keeps thrusting, until the second wave overwhelms her.

 

It’s half a sob, the sound she makes as Vanessa carries her through the release, high pitched and completely uncontrolled, like the shaking in her limbs as Vanessa’s hand begins to slow, finally, beginning to work her down.

 

Charity clings to the slowly retreating hum, the way her hearing whites out, the temporary numbness around her, how the only thing she can taste is Vanessa on her tongue and nothing else. _Nothing_ else. Nothing else beyond the warmth of Vanessa draped over her.

 

Vanessa’s breath is falling hot and broken against her chest, unmeasured, like she’s not bothering to control it whatsoever, like she doesn’t have the energy to, but Charity doesn’t mind - she’s always liked Vanessa like this the most, so exhausted and spent that Charity can see every inch of her soul.

 

She knows that she should pull her clothes on now, that she should leave and take her demons with her, that she shouldn’t stay long enough for Vanessa to try and convince her to listen to reason, or worse, to watch Vanessa break. It’s hard to shake the ownership of something like that, when it happens in front of you after all, and Charity’s never been very good at the whole responsibility pish.

 

She knows she should be angry too, that she should feel a rush of it now that she’s taken her pleasure - or rather, been given it - but there’s less of that now. It’s harder to hold on to now that Vanessa is here, that Vanessa let her in, that Vanessa saw her rage and raised her kindness, _apology_ , instead of cruel taunts and a sharp slap like others have.

 

Vanessa doesn’t move right away, and Charity thinks she’s trying to make the most of these last few seconds, that she’s trying to memorise the feeling of Charity’s skin beneath her hands, the wildness of the heartbeat beneath her ear. She takes a shuddery breath, and Charity winces at the pain in it, like Vanessa is gathering strength, before she raises her head to meet Charity’s eye.

 

“I’ll move,” Vanessa says, her voice breaking. “Just….”

 

“Just take me upstairs, Vanessa,” Charity stays instead, reaching to wrap her hands around the nape of Vanessa’s neck and pull her in close.

 

She takes a kiss as the look of surprise crosses Vanessa’s face, running her nails down Vanessa’s arms, smiling when she gasps against Charity’s mouth.

 

“Take me upstairs, instead.”

 

-

 

Charity stays far longer than she means to, until she can’t stay another second, until she can see the haze of dawn outside Vanessa’s windows and the morning threatens to expose her as the weak fool that she is for not being able to leave in the night like she’s always been able to before now.

 

Before Vanessa.

 

Her muscles ache something wicked and she knows Vanessa’s will too, but she savours it, she relishes it, the way they protest, the way they burn even in her stillness before she so much as thinks about moving.

 

Vanessa is curled up in front of her now, fast asleep, holding Charity’s hand against her chest close enough that she can feel Vanessa’s heart beating faintly, in the kind of deep slumber that you only fall into next to someone you trust implicitly. Charity knows the difference, because she’s lived without it for so long, thinks she might have gone her whole life without it, if not for Vanessa.

 

Charity sleeps deeply with Vanessa’s arms around her waist, with her breath steady on her shoulder, and it sounds pathetic but it’s something Charity’s never taken for granted with her.

 

She’s still a light sleeper though, even given that, but she doesn’t mind it now, waking with small disturbances. It gives her a chance to wake before Vanessa, to warm in the soft security Vanessa offers her, for a moment anyway, before the cruel world calls them both awake.

 

The world is quiet this morning, and normally Charity bloody hates it like this - there’s too much room for her head to run riot and replay all her failures one after the other like a movie reel, but she’s beginning to find solace in the dawn with Vanessa in her bed - or she had been anyway. Vanessa is always moving, constantly, like an incessantly bright burning ball of energy, and about the only time she’s blissfully quiet is when she’s asleep.

 

When she’s no one else’s but Charity’s.

 

This was a mistake, Charity knows it was, the realisation sinking deeper and deeper as she matches her breathing to Vanessa’s, pulling back slightly so she can see the lines on Vanessa’s back from her nails. She hadn’t meant to be so rough - no, she thinks, shaking her head- she _had_ meant to, it’s just that she’s not at all apologetic about it.

 

This was a mistake Charity thinks, because she’ll see Vanessa’s inevitable high-necked top or scarf in the village later, or in the pub, and all she’ll want to do is tear it off with her teeth and start all over again. Or worse, she’ll want to draw Vanessa back to her bed to kiss the marks better.

 

This was a mistake Charity thinks, as she slowly starts to extricate herself from Vanessa’s body, her breath catching when Vanessa turns in her sleep, clinging to Charity’s front and nestling her head into the crook of Charity’s shoulder. It’s a mistake because she never wants to leave this bloody bed. She thinks she’d stay even if the house was burning down around them.

 

She manages to pull herself from Vanessa in the end, turning her head so she doesn’t have to see the frown appear on Vanessa’s face when the heat goes from next to her. Vanessa moves again, restless as Charity pulls clothes on, all Vanessa’s - forgoing a bra - because her own are scattered across the room downstairs. She’ll stuff her own discarded pieces beneath her coat before she walks out the door, won’t feel even a little bit guilty about stealing a few things of Vanessa’s when she leaves either.

 

Charity gets to the bedroom door before the wave of Vanessa’s perfume finds her from the hastily thrown on jumper, or the t-shirt below it, and Charity turns one last time to see Vanessa roll onto her back, the purple of Charity’s marks a masterpiece in front of her eyes. Vanessa’s going to be furious when she wakes up, Charity knows she will be, but she knows she’ll treasure them like Charity will her own, too.

 

She won’t bother with a scarf even once she’s home and changed, it’ll do the world good to know Vanessa welcomed her back into her bed last night when they put together two and two, seeing Vanessa with clothes up to her chin. It’ll do Charity good to raise her eyebrows salaciously, suggestively, when people stare at them, too.

 

This was a mistake, it was, she _knows_ it was. The knowledge of that beats like a death march in her chest as she creeps down the stairs, avoiding the one that creaks on her way.

 

This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

 

But Charity doesn’t regret it one bloody bit.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> I've got quite a few little Vanity bits and pieces - little random snapshots you know - if anyone's actually interested in reading them I'll maybe pop them up? Thanks for reading btw, pop on over to my [tumblr](http://tigerlo.tumblr.com) if you feel so inclined!
> 
> x


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